


faster than a speeding seamstress

by Runespoor



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/M, Gen, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runespoor/pseuds/Runespoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya Maryam: fashion journalist by night, superhero by day. But how do you earn a moirail's trust when you can't tell them your name?</p>
            </blockquote>





	faster than a speeding seamstress

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and your life is a TV show. A bad one.

During the night hours, you are a glamorous fashion photojournalist in a prestigious magazine. 

When the day rises and the streets of Prospit turn into an unsafe snare for the wandering troll, you become the Sylph.

At the moment, you are shadowing – if you'll excuse the pun – your good friend Karkat Vantas.

Karkat and you met a handful of sweeps ago. He was dating Terezi and you were pining after Vriska, and the woes of quadrant confusion, as well as maybe kinship of spirit, threw you together. You hit off right away : both of your held a keen interest in cultural objects of a romantic nature, though his enthusiasm ran indiscriminate, while you preferred romances with a paranormal angle. 

Maybe your current diurnal occupation finds its roots there ; your costume certainly does. It takes a certain flair to pull off the nouveau-rainbowdrinker garb the Sylph is renowned for, and you manage exquisitely, if you can say so for yourself.

Spending time with him then was a balm to your soul, soothing and exhilaratingly tender. You went out of your way to comfort him, even going so far as resting your hand on his arm ; and the anguished hope in his eyes led you to believe that he might have shouted a lot, but he wouldn't have broken away from a hug, had you embraced him. When he'd clench his hands into fists, as he so often did, you wanted to take them in yours and smooth the tension away ; when you'd be troubled, disheartened by the miscommunication between Vriska and you, his was the only ear you'd consider.

In short, at six and a half you were pale as pale could be for high-strung, fat-cheeked, nubby-horned Karkat Vantas.

In a fit of unlucky circumstances, nothing happened. A series of health problems conspired to keep you apart – your first manifestation of chromophagia, and what you later learned was his mutation acting up. You kicked Vriska to the curb, and he became Gamzee's moirail, dragging him through the worst of sopor slime withdrawal.

How could anyone not pity him for it?

Your friendship didn't grow weaker, but you drifted apart.

It was coincidence, or serendipity, that made Karkat apply for a job at the newspaper you're working at. You enjoy your night job well enough, though it's also the perfect cover for the Sylph's investigating the high circles of the twin city of Derse-Prospit. For Karkat, it is a calling.

“--AND YOUR ROLE AS SEFIRA WAS AS UNINSPIRED A RENDITION OF AN AUSPITICE AS TROLL CHARLES DUTTON'S DEPICTION OF MATESPRITSHIP. YOUR PERFORMANCE WAS AN UTTER DISGRACE TO THE VERY NOTION OF CONCILIATION, I'VE SEEN PEOPLE FALL ASLEEP DURING YOUR MEDIATING SCENES.”

The troll Karkat Vantas is addressing is an eight-foot tall star with horns like the antlers of a moose. You didn't see her latest movie, which was something of a flop according to the box office and an insult to everything that is ashen according to the incendiary review the magazine you work at published.

You didn't realize it was so bad Karkat would take the opportunity of a press conference to rip into the star's ego. You spend so much time at work trying to find excuses to work with Karkat, and then biting your lips to refrain from spouting that you're the Sylph, and reprimanding yourself for keeping secrets from him, you clearly didn't pay enough attention. You could've convinced him it was a bad idea. Maybe, if you'd agreed to watch the movie with him and listened to his ranting, he wouldn't have rushed into such a stupid situation.

“IF YOU DIDN'T GO AROUND CLAIMING IN ALL YOUR INTERVIEWS THAT YOU'RE HAPPILY QUADRANTED, I'D WONDER IF YOU'D EVER BEEN IN A CONCILIATORY RELATIONSHIP THAT DIDN'T INVOLVE YOUR LUSUS.”

A murmur runs through the crowd. The star's patience snaps at the same time as the reading desk she was clutching, and she hurls herself at Karkat with a roar, raising claws that could send his head flying like a ripe fruit torn from a tree. 

From the rooftop where you're perched, you can see Karkat's mutinous pout shift, his eyes widen.

The actress' paw falls down toward Karkat's short shape

and

that's when

the Sylph of Space surges into action.

You pop into existence between them, throw your arms around Karkat, and snatch the both of you away.

It's not the first time he's in your arms, though it's very like it. At the time, too, like every other time since, you were saving him; you'll cherish the memory for a long time to come. He's shorter and stouter than you are, warmer – warmth that science and society and blood privilege say is _too much_ , and that you think is just right.

He's shaking, shoulders shaking with adrenaline, and you want nothing more than to chase the fear away, forever.

Back on the rooftop, he makes a small sound, and backs away, but not before you felt him squeeze your shoulders back. 

“That Was Stupid,” you say, severely.

He has the audacity to look affronted. “I HAD THINGS PERFECTLY UNDER CONTROL,” he argues, crossing his arms like he's envisaging bulldozing down the opposition on his own two feet.

“Is That What You'd Call Coming This Close To Becoming Street Flat Bread, Mr Vantas?”

He makes an impatient gesture. “FUCK THAT. I WAS NEVER IN ANY REAL DANGER.”

“I Apologize But I Don't See How Integrating The Bottom Of The Food Chain Would Serve The Purposes Of Your Quadrant Crusade.”

“I WAS COUNTING ON YOU TO GRAB ME BEFORE I WAS SPLATTER ON THE CONCRETE, OKAY? GEEZE.”

You count to three. 

When you're done, you count to ten to steady your voice. “Are You Telling Me My Saving You Was Part Of The Plan All Along.”

You still don't sound as calm as you usually do. There are reasons why your voice would be trembling, you tell yourself. Reasons that have nothing to do with your bloodpusher pumping diamonds. For instance, you might be angry. Incensed that he was so reckless, so entitled, so sure that you'd save him, so – so trusting.

Yes, that's likely.

Under your gaze, Karkat's cheeks darken, and he glances away.

“WELL I WOULD HOPE THAT ON THE ONE TIME I'M FACTORING IN YOUR IRREPRESSIBLE NEED TO BUTT INTO MY REPORTING, YOU WOULDN'T GET FED UP WITH MY STUNTS AND LET ME DIE THE DEATH THAT MY PAST SELF SO RICHLY DESERVED.”

In front of him, in the face of – you don't know, it can't be a pale proposal, right, it can't possibly be – Karkat wouldn't make a pale offer to the Sylph, would he? Karkat finds something to pity about everyone, that's one of the reasons you're so sorry for him, that's why he's so furious all the time, and that's another thing you wish you could make easier for him, but surely even he can't find anything to pity in the solitary hero stalking Prospit and making it a safer place for her fellow troll? 

He doesn't even know the Sylph's name. You know he's had a conciliatory problem in the past, you both have – wouldn't he let the lack of name be an obstacle to such an intimate relationship? 

You're at a loss for words for a rare time in your life.

It's the sixth time you've rescued Karkat in as many perigees.

You would do the same for anyone else. Of course; that's what being a hero is about. But there's no-one you've saved six times, and there's no-one like Karkat. Karkat who is looking at you, quiet for once, biting off his cuticles.

He doesn't know you're the Sylph.

“Stop That,” you chide, tone gentle.

It's not quite an answer to his offer – not a definite yes, but in no way a no. Karkat notices, and glances quickly away, and back at you from beneath his eyelids, shying away for a moment from looking you straight on.

“I Will Always Save You,” you add in the silence.

Karkat looks more flustered than you've seen him since the first time he made you watch the finale to Troll Buffy's Season Six, even though you made a concerted effort to avoid Gamzee's name.

“OH. WELL. THAT'S. WELL, THAT'S THAT, THEN.”

The awkwardness is contagious. You didn't feel like what you were saying was so special, but now that you can see its effect on Karkat, you need to either get away from him or come clean. The urge to grab his hands and confess that you're his coworker and friend, Kanaya Maryam, is becoming stronger as Karkat's eyes are getting shinier.

“Yes I Should Get You Back Down There Now.”

“OH YES. AND YOU NEED TO GET GOING, AS WELL, DON'T YOU? CITIES TO PROTECT, TROLLS TO SAW IN HALF...”

“He Had It Coming,” you feel obligated to remind, though Karkat was there to witness first-hand how justified a put-down it was.

“ALL I'M SAYING IS, YOU SHOULD LET SOMEONE IN. SOMEONE WHO'D WATCH OUT FOR YOU.”

You arch an eyebrow, and put a hand on your hip. “What Makes You Think I Don't?”

“WHAT BULGEREEK OF A MOIRAIL WOULDN'T BE OUT HERE WITH YOU?” 

His tone says it's obvious, and the wind whips in your hair, blowing Karkat's curls away and baring the expression of expectation on his face. There's no-one on the rooftop but you and the non-powered troll who keeps flinging himself in situations where the Sylph is involved.

“I... Yes, You're Right,” you finally say, and you turn away and pull up the hood of your outfit. “I Will Transport You Down Again.”

*

You never get a lot of sleep, but today you do even less than usual. Karkat's words keep echoing through your mind, and you toss and turn in your cocoon, trying to decide if you're in a moirallegiance with Karkat, or if the Sylph is, and cursing the need for a superhero to keep a secret identity. 

Memories of your first encounter as the Sylph and Karkat Vantas echo in your mind, and you can barely believe so much happened since then.

(“I Understand Your Devotion To What You Believe In And In Other Circumstances I Find It Admirable But Not At The Cost Of Your Own Life.”

“YOU KNOW MY NAME.”

“Yes That Was Undoubtedly The Most Important Piece Of Information I Just Delivered.”

“I MEANT, YOU KNOW WHO I AM.”

“...You're One Of The Top Movie Critics In The Business. It's My Business To Know These Things And Keep An Eye On The Movers And Shakers Of Derse Prospit.”)

It doesn't seem to bother Karkat that you haven't told him who you are, or he wouldn't have proposed the Sylph, but what if it doesn't bother him because he has no idea the Sylph is Kanaya? What would he say if he learned one of his best friends is taking advantage of him, lying to him?

*

You put on careful make-up in the evening, but even so, when you arrive at work, Karkat peers at you and tuts. “FOR THE SAKE OF EVERYTHING THAT'S RIGHT AND RIGHTEOUS, KANAYA, YOU NEED TO FUCKING SLEEP.”

“I Don't Need Much Sleep,” you counter, which is nothing but the truth.

“YOU LOOK LIKE A CRAWLCORPSE. NOT ONE OF THE PRETTY ONES, EITHER,” he comments, before hauling you to his office and pushing you in the pile that's his official lounging spot to watch most of the movies he reviews, and the endless reruns that he's famous for commenting. 

You tense; he doesn't notice.

“THERE. IT'S NOT IDEAL, I DON'T GIVE A FUCK, NOW GET SOME GODDAMN SLEEP.”

A... pile. It's not _just_ pale, of course, you've known flushed couples that had piles and you've used them more than once in your ashen adventures, but it's heavily connoted. No one would miss that, specially not Karkat.

Blood beating in your ears with anticipation, you watch him. 

Is it possible that he's worked out you're the Sylph and he's trying to tell you?

“FOR THE LOVE OF SWEET TERRORS, SOLLUX, OUT WITH IT. I DON'T HAVE ALL NIGHT AND YOU'RE THE SADDEST MESS I'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF CALLING A FRENEMY,” he's calling into the phone.

Guess he hasn't. Your eyelids weight a ton, and you have nothing but wistful tenderness for this sorry little troll. No secret message: just Karkat. Pale for the whole wide world.

He's chewing on the sides of his nails as he snaps back and forth in the swamp of Sollux's replies.

“Stop That,” you tell him, through closing eyes.

He snorts, and hides the phone with his hand. “SLEEP,” he orders, and shakes his head as he goes back to his conversation.


End file.
